Scars
by hungrygirl
Summary: Maura reveals a secret about her father to Jane. This is about how Jane reacts...in the moment and then after some realizations.


**AN: So I found myself randomly reminded of the episode when Maura tells Jane about her secret regarding her father. And I got this stuck in my head and ended up writing it out.**

 **Scars**

Weighted air fills up the tiny room, heavy with Maura's confession of her father's infidelity she had accidentally been privy to years ago. The reason behind her inability to lie.

Jane's hands tighten into fists as the impulse to gather her vulnerable best friend into her, to comfort, is stifled. Stifled not because she wants to but because she feels she has to.

She feels a wall is up, its solid bulk pushing the detective back, away from this rare show of weakness - if one can call it that. Jane definitely does not. Maura though, sees it as such.

"Well...I love that you can't tell a lie," Jane manages to say, all at once the words sounding weak and patronizing to her own ears.

"But you think I'm a coward." And just like that, another layer is added onto the wall. It keeps her away, farther out of Maura's protected world.

"What? No. Why?"

"Because I'm avoiding him, not confronting him about it."

Frustration claws at Jane, shocked that this woman who should know her better than anyone, could think that she would see this an act of cowardice.

Jane wants to shake the blonde, remind her that being a coward is her territory, not Maura's.

"Maura I live in a two by three room to avoid living with my mother." She breaks out her typical shield when faced with the challenge of baring emotion - humor.

They both chuckle, giggle quietly on cue.

And just like that, the moment appears to be over, the wall they have helped each other build, now one or two layers thicker, standing erect between them.

Seemingly unscalable.

And the coward in Jane, the one Maura had wanted to lay claim to for herself, emerges fully. She gets up, urges her best friend up and out of the room to pursue some frivolous idea of Frankie's hidden drawer.

If anyone had hidden drawers, it would be Jane.

Hidden drawers filled with words she had long ached to tell Maura but had been too intimidated to. Gestures she had frequently initiated only to succumb to some internal instinct to restrain. Emotions buried inches, maybe feet, deep with layer after layer added over and over again.

It would have been so natural to have just taken Maura in her arms after the tearful confession, comforted her in a way any best friend would.

Should.

But she had let herself step away meekly from the wall, too frightened to even try and topple a part of it in order to get through to her friend.

Her best friend who had left hours ago, well-practiced, deceptive smile in place. That smile Jane knew disguised the pain of having reopened those wounds of so long ago left festering underneath her band-aid made of running away and hiding. The very same kind Jane has.

She does not realize what her fingers have been doing the past hour she has sat in this tiny, oppressive room. They have been worrying the scars on her hand.

Scars. Her own scars Maura has repeatedly reminded her did not, in any way, symbolize cowardice or defeat. No, Maura has always insisted, Jane's scars are there to remind her of the fight she had won.

The thought lights a fire underneath her and just like that, Jane finds herself reaching for her haphazardly discarded tennis shoes and hooded jacket. Her feet practically run to the the door of Frankie's apartment, intent on getting to her destination as soon as she can. Right now, if possible.

She finds herself knocking against a familiar white door, for some reason, forgetting to ring the doorbell. Instead, her knuckles meet wood over and over again, single-minded in intent.

When the door finally swings open and Maura's visage finally appears before her, all red-rimmed eyes and tousled hair, she is momentarily frozen.

The wall, she realizes, is not between them now. Even if it were, she feels she would scale it, no matter how high.

She steps inside, gently pushing the door wider to let herself in.

And she does what she should have done earlier, in that tiny room in Frankie's apartment.

She envelops Maura in her arms, sweats and hoodie and curls wrapping around satin pajamas and blonde waves.

Courage breaking through walls built on bricks of self-control and emotional distance and uncertainty.

When Maura's arms slide out from between them to settle timidly on her waist, Jane's arms tighten around the blonde. Her right hand goes up to cradle Maura's head against her chest. She kisses the top of blonde head first, and then slides her lips down onto Maura's temple before detaching so she can rest her cheek against the other woman's, bronzed skin caressing ivory tenderly and with so much care.

"Do you remember what you always say about the scars on my hands?" Jane's quiet voice startles Maura momentarily. Her cheek disconnects from Jane's but slender fingers guide and keep her from moving too far away. Only enough that they can look into each other's eyes.

"That I cherish them…" Maura pauses, uncertain about repeating words she used to say so lightly right now, in this moment of such weight. Jane's expectant smile and that telling shine in her eyes that signifies barely controlled emotion urges her on. "I cherish them because they tell me you have wounds that have healed." Jane smiles, those words never failing to comfort her, especially when coming from Maura.

"You've healed them, Maura." She rests her forehead against the blonde's, replacing her lips that had lingered there just moments ago. Her mouth trades warm breaths with Maura's. "Now let me help heal yours."

 **\- FIN -**


End file.
